


Jaquemart I - Ten Thousand Shades of Grey

by alanharnum



Series: Jaquemart [1]
Category: Shoujo Kakumei Utena | Revolutionary Girl Utena
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-27
Updated: 2017-12-27
Packaged: 2019-02-22 15:13:45
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,805
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13169574
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alanharnum/pseuds/alanharnum





	Jaquemart I - Ten Thousand Shades of Grey

JAQUEMART  
by  
Alan Harnum

Utena and its characters belongs to Be-PaPas, Chiho Saito,  
Shogakukan, Shokaku Iinkai and TV Tokyo.

This copy of the story is from my Archive of Our Own page at http://archiveofourown.org/users/alanharnum/pseuds/alanharnum.

 

I. Ten Thousand Shades of Grey

Ring! Ring! It's 7:00 A.M.!  
Move y'self to go again  
Cold water in the face  
Brings you back to this awful place  
Knuckle merchants and you bankers, too  
Must get up an' learn those rules  
Weather man and the crazy chief  
One says sun and one says sleet  
\--The Clash, "The Magnificent Seven"

* * *

Time again for the bells to ring.

"For whom doth the bell toll?" had long ago ceased to be a  
question. He no longer asked it, and was uninterested in the  
answer. No greater pleasure than a simple but necessary task.  
And bells must be rung, and thus must have their ringers.

What must the ringer have? That, too, was no longer a  
question.

There had always been too many ropes, even in the beginning.  
They had multiplied over the years, until they hung like a forest  
of serpents, some alone, some in twisting clusters.

How many ropes, and what bells did they ring, and where?  
Again, none were questions he had even a memory of desiring to  
ask. He knew which ropes to pull as his heart knew to pump  
blood.

The rope was coarse between his callused hands; he  
tightened his grip, sighed gently, though not unhappily, and  
pulled.

* * *

The poor alarm clock only managed to get out half a beep before  
a hand slammed it into dead silence. A lithe, tightly-muscled  
leg emerged from beneath the piled quilts and groped for the  
floor; once that was found, it soon enjoyed the company of its  
sibling.

Quilts were thrust away to fall to the floor in a careless  
heap. Freed from beneath their confines, Tenjou Utena sat up,  
yawned, stretched, and then immediately dived back into bed and  
pulled as many quilts as she could back over herself.

"C-Cold."

A chill wind seemed to have blown through the bedroom in the  
night; beyond the frosted panes of the single, small window, she  
could see that snow had fallen in the night. A tiny line between  
pane and sill exposed the room to the outside, and scattered  
white flakes dusted the faded wood of the inner sill.

"How did that get open?" she groaned, safe and warm within  
the sanctuary of the quilts, and thus disinclined to get up and  
deal with the real source of the problem. 

Heat was expensive, though, and it wasn't as if they could  
afford to waste money. Mentally and physically steeling herself,  
she leapt out from beneath the quilts and made a dash for the  
window with only her thin pyjamas for protection. Halfway there,  
the alarm clock's SNOOZE function finished, and it began to  
plaintively beep. Surprised in mid-dash, Utena started, her  
left foot became entangled in the bra she'd casually tossed on  
the floor before going to bed last night, and she went down hard.

"Ow."

An errant snowflake, blown on winter winds, drifted through  
the crack and settled daintily on her nose. The alarm's  
morse-code peeps began to increase in rate and volume, until they  
became a shrieking electronic wail that dug at her eardrums like  
a rusty trowel.

One hand rubbing her bruised tailbone, Utena stood, slammed  
the window fully closed, and turned to deal with the alarm clock.  
The SNOOZE button sent it into quiescence again, and a flick of a  
switch turned it to the FM stations.

//"...and it's a cold day in Sapporo, listeners, but, then  
again, you should've expected that. Snow falls approached record  
levels, more on that with Fuji the Weather Guy after the  
news..."//

As she'd wanted to turn it off, that wasn't received well.  
She growled, muttered something rude about the engineers who  
designed an alarm clock where the furthest position for the  
switch wasn't OFF, and managed at last to shut it completely off.  
She hoped.

At the door, as she pulled a light terrycloth robe over her  
pyjamas and shoved her bare feet into slippers, she noticed the  
smell.

"Oh, no. Not again."

Robe flapping, slippers slapping, she hurried down the small  
hall of the apartment and into the kitchenette. "Anthy!"

Himemiya Anthy, hair pinned up and tucked into a white  
kerchief, looked away momentarily from the skillet in which she  
was making eggs. "Good morning, Utena."

"Anthy, not again." Utena slumped into one of the rickety  
wooden chairs at the cheap vinyl-finished table. From his place  
at one corner, Chu-Chu belched a greeting, then resumed his  
attempts to cram an entire piece of buttered toast down his  
throat without swallowing. "We talked about this, didn't we?  
Didn't we talk about it?"

"Don't be silly, Utena. I was up before you. Coffee?"

"Anthy... yes, please."

"Two sugars, no milk. Just how you like it."

"Anthy, I'm the one who's supposed to cook, at least until I  
find another job. Once that happens, we can start sharing again,  
but..."

"You pack my lunch and make dinner, Utena. It doesn't hurt  
me to make breakfast once in a while."

Utena gulped hot coffee and shook her head. "Anthy, it's  
the principle of the thing. Do I have to start waking up  
earlier?"

"Really, Utena, it's all right." Anthy began to heap  
scrambled eggs over toast onto two chipped plates, and pour  
orange juice into mismatched glasses. "I don't mind."

"But I do!"

"Why are you trying to tell me what to do?" Anthy was  
beginning to sound just a little annoyed. "If I want to cook you  
breakfast some days, I'm allowed, aren't I? I can do what I  
want, can't I? How does it hurt--"

"Anthy, let's talk about this later, please."

"I don't want to talk about it at all. You're the one who  
brought it up."

"Anthy..."

"I'm sorry, Utena."

"Don't say you're sorry, you haven't got anything--"

"Let's just eat our breakfast."

Chu-Chu looked from one woman to the next, and let out a  
plaintive "Chu?". Anthy and Utena moved almost simultaneously to  
stroke his head; their hands met over him, fingers barely  
brushing.

Utena blushed slightly, but couldn't tell with Anthy's dark  
complexion if the other woman followed suit. Without any words  
being exchanged, they gently clasped hands.

Chu-Chu smiled.

A few minutes later, with breakfast nearly finished, Utena  
noticed the absence. "Anthy, where's the paper?"

Anthy paused in her clearing of the dishes. "Paper?"

"You always leave it on the counter over there when you get  
up before me, just like I do when I get up before you." Utena  
chuckled softly. "Not that that happens much, but still..."

"Oh, the paper. The paper didn't come today."

"Hmm? Guess it must be because of all the snow. I'll pick  
one up today when I go out." As Anthy brought the dishes to the  
sink and began to rinse them, Utena dug into the fridge to put  
together lunches for the two of them. Cold fried rice from  
yesterday's dinner, one left-over yakitori skewer (that went into  
Anthy's box), a thermos of tea for each of them, rice crackers,  
and the single apple remaining in the fruit box (Anthy's box  
again).

"You might want to leave a little early today, Anthy;  
traffic will be slow, what with all that snow."

Anthy smiled as she scrubbed the plates. "If that junker of  
a car starts at all." 

"Hey--don't talk like that, you'll jinx it."

"Retasu-san will understand if I'm a little late."

"Yeah, he's a nice guy. Heard anything about that assistant  
supervisor position?"

"Not yet. I know Yuri-san is going on her maternity leave  
soon, but no one's talked to me yet."

"You should ask Retasu about it. He'd give it to you in a  
second; you know plants as well as anyone there does."

"Oh, I don't want to be pushy like that..."

"It's not pushy, Anthy."

Finished packing the lunches, Utena came over to help with  
the dishes. Grabbing a ragged towel from the rack near the sink,  
she put herself on drying duty. "Anyway, I have two interviews  
today. Here's to hoping." She clinked the two empty juice glass  
together, then put them away in the cupboard.

"Where?"

"Retail jobs. They don't pay too well, but... better than  
nothing."

"You really don't need to work, I make--"

"No, I don't need to work. But I want to."

They finished the dishes. Anthy took off her kerchief and  
adjusted her hair in the small mirror on the door, then put on  
her jacket and boots, while Utena wiped the table and the  
counters. 

"Goodbye, Utena," Anthy called, as she stepped out the door.

"Anthy! Your lunch."

"Oh; silly me."

Utena brought her the bento box; their hands brushed again  
as they exchanged it. Hesitantly, Utena leaned forward and  
lightly kissed Anthy's dusky cheek; faint floral perfume tickled  
her nose.

"Have a good day, Anthy."

"I tried to water the roses yesterday."

Utena stepped back, eyes widening. "What?"

"In the greenhouse. I thought... I thought. But I  
couldn't. I filled the watering can, but I couldn't go near  
them. Even after seven years."

"Anthy--"

"Goodbye, Utena; good luck with your interviews."

Anthy closed the door and hurried away. 

Utena stood staring at blank wood for a few seconds. There  
was a calendar pinned to the inner side of door, below the  
mirror, and pinned to it was a photograph of the two of them  
taken last year. Chu-Chu was on her shoulder; she wore jeans,  
and Anthy wore a skirt.

"Roses," Utena murmured, and touched the scar upon her  
abdomen through pyjamas and robe. Then she sat down at the  
cheap, dirty kitchen table, and quietly began to cry.

* * *

Later, as she walked to the dingy corner where the bus stopped,  
the scar ached. It did that whenever she thought about the  
past; about the time she'd been a prince.

Around her, the fresh snow had already been churned into  
dank grey slush by the passage of feet. It had taken about an  
hour after Anthy's departure to prepare for the interviews:  
shower, dress, do her hair, put on make-up. The skirt was  
awkward to walk in and the make-up itched, but she needed a job  
and had to make the best impression possible.

At the bus stop, she waited within the clear plexiglass  
walls of the shelter, and watched the traffic pass. Outside, two  
boys in leather jackets passed a long hand-rolled cigarette back  
and forth. She flirted momentarily with the idea of asking them  
for some, but killed it quickly; she'd quit for good two years  
ago after long urging by Anthy. Not only that, but they might  
take it the wrong way; they were already giving her enough looks.

"Punks," she muttered. They couldn't be more than sixteen,  
but they had faces like sharks. One noticed her observation, and  
grinned at her; his canine teeth had been filed to points. She  
stared back with narrowed eyes, until he looked away and said  
something to his friend; dropping the finished cigarette into the  
slush, they walked away.

She worried sometimes; couldn't help it, living in this  
neighbourhood. Not for herself; she was still in top shape, and  
was perfectly capable of handling anything that came her way.  
But Anthy... Anthy might just lie back and let it happen, if it  
came down to it.

When the bus came a few minutes later, she was still the  
only one there to board. She dug in her handbag for the fare,  
then took a seat at the very back next to an snoozing old woman.

The bus stop retreated out the back window, and she  
rehearsed interview questions. Why did you leave your last job,  
Tenjou-san? Didn't like the environment. And the one before  
that? Conflicts with other employees. What's the longest you've  
ever held a job, Tenjou-san? Do you have a problem with  
authority? Do you not enjoy working in groups? Are you easily  
upset? What made you apply for this job in particular?

Somewhat uncomfortably she realized that she was the  
youngest person on the bus. All the other passengers were at  
least approaching middle age; none of them looked happy to be  
going wherever they were. Probably to menial jobs that barely  
paid for rent and food, the same kind of jobs their children  
would go to once they were old enough, and their children's  
children.

Utena's seatmate snored contentedly, then flopped over onto  
her shoulder. She didn't have the heart to remove her or the  
space to move away.

As they left the shoddy residential area of cheap flats and  
low-rent apartment buildings where she and Anthy lived, snow  
began to fall again. Thin flakes hit the bus windows like blind  
birds, and died. Utena watched sadly. 

A hand brushed her thigh. She looked over at her other  
seatmate, a greying man in a suit that had seen better days.  
Moving carefully so as not to wake the old woman, she leaned  
over to whisper sweetly into his ear:

"Do that again, and I'll break your fingers."

The man made no response, but got up and left the bus at the  
next stop. Utena wondered whether he'd actually planned to get  
off there, then promptly forgot about it. The minor adrenaline  
rush the incident provided carried her all the way to her  
downtown stop, a few blocks from the first interview. With an  
hour to kill before it began, she retreated from the cold and  
slush into a small coffee shop. She splurged for a large  
cappuccino, and spent nearly the whole hour reading the remains  
of a newspaper she found in the booth; someone had already made  
off with the front section, and half of sports.

Lonely. That was how she felt. She could have brought Chu-  
Chu for company, but the last time she'd done that, he'd popped  
out of her handbag during the interview and greeted the  
interviewer. She did not, to her great unsurprise, get the job.

Time passed with agonizing slowness. Utena drained her mug  
to the dregs, considered ordering a refill, and then didn't.  
The coffee shop was only half-full; hopefully, they wouldn't ask  
her to leave. Outside was cold, and hanging around the store  
before her interview would only make her nervous.

Beyond the windows, snow kept on falling.

* * *

The first interview went badly. As the questions became more  
probing, she'd become sullen and defensive--hadn't been able to  
stop herself. And the manager had kept on trying to look down  
her blouse. At the end, already quite certain she wouldn't get  
the job, she gave him an especially crushing handshake, and then  
hurried out.

Let the second one go better, she thought, as she hurried to  
catch the bus again. Please, let it go better. She hurriedly  
ate her lunch during the trip; it tasted slightly better than  
styrofoam.

The bus dropped her off nearly in front of the store, which  
was bigger and brighter than she expected an antique shop to be.

"Green Rose Antiques." She shuddered. "Just a  
coincidence." The stylized jade-coloured rose on the sign above  
the shop door reminded her of the Rose Signet, but, then again,  
even the word "rose" could remind her of it.

A bell over the door rang softly as she entered; from behind  
the counter, a harried clerk managed to spare her a smile, and  
then resumed discussing the merits of various pieces of jewelry  
on a felt-lined tray with two customers who looked like they  
could be newlyweds. Utena could see immediately why they had  
advertised for more staff; the three clerks she saw didn't look  
like enough to handle such a big store, or so many customers.  
Even on an ugly-weather weekday like this one, they were doing  
a brisk business.

Not that it was hard to see why; the store was clean,  
bright, and beautifully organized, hardly the stereotypical dust-  
choked antique shop. Beautiful old wooden furniture competed for  
space with elegant vases, and the display cases were full of  
well-polished jewelry and watches. A magnificent oaken  
grandfather clock ticked precisely in one corner, and behind the  
counter, a few sheathed swords--two katanas, and what looked like  
a French rapier--hung on the wall.

Utena took a deep breath; the air seemed weighty with all  
the antiquity within. Despite the bad memories the name brought  
back, she liked the store immediately. 

She waited until a clerk was momentarily free, and walked up  
to him. "Excuse me, I'm Tenjou Utena--"

"Here for the interview, right?" He smiled a bit wearily  
while peering at her from behind thick glasses. "Office is that  
way." He indicated a door labelled STAFF ONLY in the back  
with a jerk of his thumb. "Good luck; we could use the help."

Utena nodded, thanked him profusely--he was the first  
friendly face she'd seen since Anthy had left for work--and  
quickly threaded her way through the customers to reach the door.  
A short trip down a narrow hallway brought her past a bathroom  
and a blank door that she guessed led to a storage room before  
she reached a nearly-closed door with MANAGER on it.

She breathed deeply again, and knocked. 

"Come in."

The manager's office was quite plain: a half-full  
bookshelf, a desk, two file cabinets. All that seemed out of  
place was the katana over the window. 

Behind the desk, a man not much older than her sat in a  
swivel chair, face hidden by the paperwork he was examining.  
As she closed the door, he lowered it.

For a moment, all she could do was stare. The hair was  
much shorter, and he wasn't as lean as he'd been back then,  
but...

It took effort even to whisper. "Saionji?"

* * *

Snip, snap. Leaves and shoots fell at her feet. The concave  
pruner and bud scissors moved in short, stabbing motions; twist,  
cut, twist, cut. Fascinating, the fragility of bonsai trees;  
like miniature worlds. Years of constant care, and even then a  
slip of the hand when cutting could destroy them. So hard and  
time-consuming to create; it did not seem fair that they were  
so easily ruined.

Anthy finished and moved on to the next bonsai. The  
government had slashed funding to the Sapporo Horticultural  
Institute a few years back, and this was one of the financial  
sidelines that kept them (barely) in the black: doing the  
preliminary work on bonsais, which were then sold to people who  
would supposedly continue the work. Privately, Anthy suspected  
that most of them soon fell into disrepair. It was a rare person  
whose attention could be held for long by a bonsai--much rarer  
than those who could afford to buy them and the tools needed to  
maintain them.

She cared for each bonsai until its first repotting. One or  
two years of work upon each one... there were about twenty being  
cared for at any one time, all awaiting the day when they would  
go to the people who had put their names on the waiting list...

Better not to think about it.

The door to the pleasant, white, sterile room clicked open,  
and Doctor Retasu looked in. "Himemiya?"

"Yes, Retasu-san?"

"How are things going?"

"Just fine."

The head of the Institute stepped fully in and closed the  
door. "Nearly finished?"

"Yes, sir."

Softly whistling, as was his habit, Retasu came up behind  
her and watched her work. Anthy consciously straightened her  
posture, and paused momentarily to adjust the hang of the long  
white apron she wore for doing this work. Then she threw herself  
doggedly back into the pruning.

Retasu adjusted his rimless glasses and ran blunt fingers  
through his shaggy grey hair. "I'm not making you nervous, am I?  
I just like to watch you work."

"No, sir."

Snip, snap. The floor beneath the bonsai-holding tables was  
covered with plastic to make clean up easier. In cold Sapporo,  
the Horticultural Institute had to be kept warm for the health of  
the plants; a bead of sweat threatened to fall into Anthy's eye,  
and she stopped her work to wipe it away.

This was, she decided, as good a time as any to broach the  
subject. "Yuri-san will be leaving to have her baby soon, won't  
she?"

"Yes, she will."

"Have you found someone to fill her position yet?"

The botanist thoughtfully brought a finger to his thick  
moustache. "Actually, no, I haven't."

"Oh."

"Are you interested?"

For a second, she couldn't find her words, but she recovered  
quickly, hoping he hadn't noticed what might seem hesitation.  
"Yes, sir."

His hand lightly touched her upper back, and lingered. "How  
long have you been working here, Anthy? Four years?"

"Almost, I think."

"You're one of the best workers I've ever had."

"Thank you, Retasu-san."

He smiled; his hand moved down. "So formal. You're a  
little old fashioned, aren't you, Anthy?"

"Maybe a little."

A little further down; Anthy put her tools back in the big  
pocket of her apron. 

"You're a good employee Anthy." He took his hand away.  
"Come by my office after working hours, and we'll talk."

"Yes, sir."

As he left, he began to whistle again. When the door  
clicked shut, Anthy untensed more than she meant to, and nearly  
fell; without the edge of the table to grab, she might very well  
have hit the floor. 

The table rocked slightly; the bonsais threatened to fall.  
Anthy hurriedly let go, and got up in order to steady them. 

* * *

Saionji Kyouichi looked back at Utena from behind his desk,  
apparently more than a little surprised. After a moment, he  
shook his head, and said, embarrassed, "I'm sorry, I don't  
remember you."

"Tenjou Utena. From Ohtori."

Saionji smiled and pursed his lips. "I..." He laughed.  
"I'm very sorry, I'm really drawing a blank."

Utena looked at his face; he seemed completely sincere.  
Surprising how much it hurt, how much it made her scar ache; this  
was Saionji, whom she'd never liked at all. And Anthy had warned  
her about the amnesia that would overtake everyone she'd ever  
known at Ohtori. Why did she feel so sad, then, that he didn't  
remember her?

"You were the captain of the kendo club," she said quietly.  
"We had a few duels."

Saionji leaned forward and rested his chin on his hands, deep  
in thought. "You were a member?"

"Sort of."

What good is a prince, if no one remembers her deeds?

He abruptly straightened and snapped his fingers. "Of  
course. You were the one who always wore a boy's uniform."

Utena beamed. "That was me."

"Go ahead and sit down, Utena." He indicated the chair in  
front of the desk. "Well, this is funny." His eyes looked up at  
the sword over the window. "Little things are coming back now; I  
remember my friend Touga, he had kind of a crush on you... and  
you challenged me to a duel because of that love letter I posted  
on the bulletin board."

She nodded as she sat down. "Yes, that's right."

"I can't remember who won, though." He frowned. "It was  
only seven years ago. Strange."

"It doesn't matter any more," Utena surprised herself by  
saying. "Don't worry about it."

"I should thank you." His voice was softer, kinder than the  
Saionji she had known; the years had apparently weathered him for  
the better. "I was a real jerk back then. You were the first  
person at Ohtori who ever really put me in my place." A mild,  
nostalgic chuckle escaped him. "Looking back at it... it's all a  
bit unclear, but I don't think I would have married Wakaba if you  
hadn't challenged me for putting her letter up."

Utena bit her lip. "Wakaba? How is she?"

"She's fine. We got married three years ago."

"Congratulations." She smiled unsteadily. "Sorry it's a  
little late." 

"Odd that Wakaba didn't send you an invitation... you were  
good friends. I remember..."

"We drifted apart after I left Ohtori."

His face clouded a little. "I know how that goes."

"Do you... still talk to Touga?"

He shook his head. "I haven't seen Touga since graduation."  
For a moment, there was a flash of the dark melancholy of his  
youth, and then it disintegrated. "But I guess you aren't here  
to reminisce. You want the job?"

"I have my resume in my bag..."

"Don't bother. You're hired."

"Saionji, I don't want to get a job that way..."

"Don't be silly." He looked at her kindly. "I remember how  
you left Ohtori. Trouble with the Chairman, right?"

"...yes."

"I'm not going to pry. I had a bit of that myself. If you  
want the job, you have it."

Pride warred with need; need won. "Thank you so much,  
Saionji-san."

He leaned back in his chair. "Any questions?"

"How did you get into this business?"

A slight grimace marred his face. "After I graduated from  
Ohtori, my father wanted me to follow him into banking. I went  
to college for a year for that, then realized I hated it, and  
dropped out. I always liked antiques, old things; things with a  
sense of eternity to them."

A singular chill finger ran down Utena's spine. She hid it  
with a smile and a nod. "How long have you been doing this?"

"Two years now," he answered. "I have another store in  
Tokyo. We--Wakaba and I--just opened this one last month."

"Is she..." Utena paused; she had tangled her hand so  
tightly in the straps of her purse that her fingers were turning  
white. "Is Wakaba here now?" 

Saionji answered as she worked to unwrap her hand from its  
entanglement: "She's back at the apartment. We'll probably be  
going back to Tokyo in a few months, once we get the store  
established. I'll be sure to tell her you're in town; she'd love  
to see you." He laughed, and tapped his fingers on the desk.  
"What a coincidence, huh?"

"Yeah."

He tore off a piece of paper from the pad on his desk and  
scribbled two numbers on it before passing it to her. "The first  
one is the apartment number, and the second is my cell phone.  
You've got the number here, right?"

Utena nodded. 

"Anyway." He put another piece of paper in front of him.  
"Let's talk about your hours. Full-time, right?"

"Full-time."

They worked the details out in perfect comfort, as if they  
were old friends instead of old foes. Of course, Utena  
reflected, Saionji probably thought they were old friends.

When they finished, she got up to shake his hand; his  
fingers were surprisingly soft and smooth, with only the ghosts  
of calluses. When, she wondered, was the last time he'd handled  
a sword?

As he clasped her hand, she stared into his eyes, and the  
old memories rose; Saionji slapped Anthy, Saionji cut down Touga  
before her eyes... How much of that was still there? He  
couldn't have changed that much, not just by leaving Ohtori and  
forgetting her. Then again, Ohtori was Akio's domain, his own  
monstrous fairy-tale kingdom, and...

These were the kinds of things she didn't ever think about,  
for fear of too much hurt. Seeing Saionji was so unexpected, and  
soon she might see Wakaba as well. Almost overwhelming... all  
that, and to suddenly have a job again. 

Anthy would be happy. Or would she be? No way she could  
hide who she was working for forever, and Anthy's behaviour at  
any mention of things related to Ohtori could be unpredictable.

Troubled, Utena bid Saionji farewell, thanked him again, and  
went to leave. As she opened the door, his voice stopped her.  
"Utena?"

"Yes?"

"Did you ever see Himemiya Anthy again after you left? You  
and her were..."

"We're roommates," she said quickly, and left in a hurry.  
In the store, the clerk who'd directed her to the office gave her  
a quick look; she smiled at him, and gave a thumbs-up. His grin  
followed her as she ducked out the front door, pulling on her  
jacket as she did so.

Outside in the falling snow, she took deep, revitalizing  
breaths of winter air, cold clinging to her throat in a delicious  
chill. Flakes dotted the pale rose of her hair in an impromptu  
diadem. At the corner a newspaper box stood half-wreathed by  
drifting snow. Utena dug in her pockets for change.

* * *

The unfeasibility of reading a full-size newspaper on the bus  
made sure Utena saved it until she arrived home. Chu-Chu was  
all over her the moment she got in, squeaking for something to  
eat. Utena left her winter clothes at the door and slipped off  
her boots, then waltzed into the kitchen with Chu-Chu at her  
heels and tossed the paper onto the table for later reading.  
She made Chu-Chu a peanut butter sandwich, knowing from previous  
experience that the sticky filling would keep him occupied for  
some time, and put the kettle on to boil.

When she turned back to the table from the stove, Chu-Chu  
was attempting to eat the front section of the paper.

"Chu-Chu! No!"

The unclassifiable simian looked at her with big, innocent  
eyes, and slowly removed the corner of the page he had been  
trying to swallow from his mouth.

Utena flopped down into a chair and cocked her head sideways  
to stare at him. "Honestly, why would you want to chew that? Do  
you want to make a nest or something?"

"Chu!"

"Real informative. You can have it after I'm done with it.  
Now eat your sandwich."

"...chu."

Trying to hide a smile, she pushed the plate towards him.  
"Go on; I made it for you."

Chu-Chu turned up his nose at it and sniffed.

Utena sighed. "What's with you now?"

"Chu! Chu!"

The creature stepped backwards to the edge of the table,  
puffed his cheeks, pirouetted twice, and then fell to the floor  
in an apparent dead faint.

"Chu-Chu? What's wrong?" Utena knelt down on the tile  
floor--noting that it needed some serious mopping as she did--  
and prodded the unconscious animal with her finger. No response.  
"Chu-Chu?"

She gathered the unmoving body up in her arms and pressed  
her ear to his chest. The small heart beat strong and steady as  
a drum.

"Chu-Chu? If this is some kind of joke, it isn't funny."

Nothing like this had ever happened before. Utena pressed  
her tongue hard against her palate, and tried to think of what to  
do. Chu-Chu, limp as a rag-doll in the cup of her hands, was  
completely unresponsive. He even seemed to be turning a little  
blue. 

"Chu-Chu, answer me!"

When the joke--it had to be a joke--didn't end, she put him  
down on the table, and grabbed the phone off its wall mount.  
"Chu-Chu, don't make me call..." Who? She wasn't sure if the  
hospital or the vet would be better. "Don't make me call Anthy  
at work."

She turned away and made an apparently intent study of the  
number pad, then suddenly whirled and looked back. 

Chu-Chu hung his head guiltily, a quarter of the front page  
crammed into his mouth.

"Honestly, that's enough." A note of real anger entered her  
voice. "Take that out of your mouth, eat your lunch, and leave  
my paper alone."

She stalked forward; Chu-Chu retreated to the edge of the  
table with his sandwich and turned his back to her. Using the  
flat of her hand, she smoothed out the front page, grimacing a  
little at the dampness as she did.

Before she'd read even a sentence of the headline article  
(something about foreign relations that she didn't much care  
about), the kettle whistled. Keeping a reproachful eye on  
Chu-Chu, she poured the boiling water over the tea bags in the  
small red clay tea pot, then brought it to the table along with  
two cups. Sometimes, she missed her old rose-decorated teacups,  
but they'd made Anthy uncomfortable.

Some days, she got in the mood to read the whole front  
section from first page to last, and this was one of them. Thus,  
it was a good half-hour before she found the article; had she not  
been reading so carefully, she might have missed it altogether,  
tucked away as it was in a small sidebar in the 'National News'  
section. Short and to the point:

PRIVATE SCHOOL TRAGEDY

A sixteen year-old male student at the renowned Ohtori  
Academy in the northern Honshu city of Houou is charged  
with second-degree murder in the death of another male  
student during an impromptu after-school duel over a girl. 

Very carefully, working with the fragile precision of  
someone in a slight daze, Utena tore the tiny article out and put  
it into the breast pocket of her blouse. 

Shaking as though a fever had come suddenly upon her, she  
folded the paper, and went to deposit it in the garbage can in  
the cupboard under the sink. Behind her, she heard Chu-Chu  
whimper, and ignored it as she pressed the pedal to open the can.

Beneath the breakfast detritus, a fine pall of ash coated  
the white plastic of the garbage bag; her old scar began to throb  
as though it were a fresh, bloody wound. Moving almost  
automatically, Utena pulled the bag out and dumped the entire  
contents into the sink. So much ash, with little blackened  
scraps of newspaper mixed in, print still visible in places...

Over to the stove, to check the burners. The odour of the  
gas flame from boiling the water still hung over the aged  
appliance, as she ran her finger around the metal plates beneath  
the coils and it came away covered in fine paper ash...

Wouldn't it have been easier to just hide it, to throw it  
out the window? She imagined Anthy feeding the pages to the  
flame one by one, watching them burn... it must have taken her at  
least an hour. 

"Why, Anthy?" she murmured to herself. No answer presented  
itself. Utena went to the phone.

* * *

"Himemiya?"

"Yes?"

"Phone call. It's your roommate."

"Oh?"

"You can take it on the phone in the lounge."

"Utena?"

//"Anthy, why didn't you tell me?"//

"About what, Utena?"

//"You know. I read the paper, Anthy. Did you think I  
wouldn't?"//

"No, I didn't."

//"Then why?"//

"I don't know."

//"Did you think I wasn't able to handle it or something?"//  
Utena's voice was choked and throaty; she was holding back tears.  
Anthy almost wished she could be there now to be a physical  
comfort, but realized that, at least in this matter, that  
wouldn't help.

"No, Utena, I didn't--"

//"Then why? Just give me a straight answer."//

"I can't give you a straight answer. I don't know. I read  
the article, and then it was like I wasn't entirely there, and it  
wasn't _me_ doing it..."

//"I thought you were done with that. Free will, and all.  
Remember?"//

Anthy closed her eyes and pressed a hand to her forehead.  
"Utena, don't."

There was silence on the other end of the line for a moment  
before Utena responded. //"I'm sorry, Anthy. I didn't mean  
that."//

"I think I've got the job, Utena." An effort to force the  
words past her constricted throat. "I'm staying late to talk  
about things with Doctor Retasu, and--"

//"Anthy, no."//

"What?"

//"I got the job too. You know who my new boss is? Saionji  
Kyouichi. Remember him? Remember Ohtori, Anthy, where your  
brother is obviously still destroying people's lives?"//

"Utena, please--"

//"No, Anthy. Jobs? Jobs don't matter right now. You have  
to come home now, we have to talk about what we're going to  
do."//

"Do? We're not going to do anything. We're free from  
Ohtori."

//"But--"//

Anthy hung up and left the lounge. She went to the private  
employee bathroom, locked the door, sat down on the toilet seat,  
and tried to cry. Tears would not come. After ten futile  
minutes of trying to pour out the lump of pain in her belly, she  
got up, stiffly washed her face, and went back to work.

"Himemiya, your roommate is waiting to--"

"Please tell her I'm not available."

"She sounds really--"

"I'm not available."

"Okay."

* * *

Utena replaced the phone, sat down again, and immediately began  
to cry. Twice in one day. That hadn't happened in years. Then  
again, she hadn't had Ohtori, both past and present, thrust into  
her face like this ever since she'd left.

Akio. The dark skin and pale hair swam before her vision.  
She remembered how, unbound from its tail, it floated around his  
face like a lion's mane, like a veil...

How badly she'd wanted someone, _anyone_ to talk to about  
Ohtori. The subject could never be raised with Anthy, of course;  
the nightmare she'd undergone at her brother's hands so exceeded  
any pain Utena had that pouring her heart out to Anthy would have  
been utterly callous. And Anthy never showed any desire to talk  
about it; only to forget it, to try and live as normal a life as  
they could.

But there was no forgetting it. Ohtori and Akio lay by the  
blue Pacific (she remembered the wind whipping her hair as she  
sat beside Akio in the car) like cancers upon Japan, upon the  
very earth. What if, somehow, he did manage to create a Duellist  
capable of bringing the Revolution?

Akio's will, backed by the full power of Dios...

An involuntary whimper, like a small animal in a trap,  
clawed its way out of her throat. The entire world would be as  
Ohtori, the bauble of a devil, a fairy-tale nightmare that would  
never end.

She couldn't stop crying. Seven years of trying to live  
normally, of trying to forget, to just be happy with Anthy, and  
now Ohtori came back all at once like a punch in the gut. 

Even now, she still dreamed about Akio, and all the dreams  
woke her hot and sweaty in the Hokkaido cold. Exciting and  
sickening at the same time, how she could find someone with so  
black a soul so physically beautiful.

Abruptly, she slapped herself across the face. Hard.  
Chu-Chu, who had been futilely trying to comfort her by nuzzling  
her hair, jumped back in surprise.

"Stop it!" she screamed to the empty kitchen. "A prince  
doesn't cry!" It did no good; the tears ran down her face in an  
avalanche of grief. "Stop it, you coward!" She hit herself  
again. One of her rings, a plain silver band that Anthy had  
bought her for her birthday three years ago, gouged her lip;  
salty blood washed her tongue. "Do you want to be a prince or  
not?" Her chair scraped across the tiles as she stood and  
stalked to the mirror on the door; Chu-Chu hurried along behind  
her, tugging at her ankle and being emphatically ignored. 

A mess looked back at her from the mirror. Crying had  
streaked runny mascara across her cheeks; half her hair had come  
loose from the pinned-up bun she'd put it in for the interviews;  
blood and lipstick were smeared in equal quantities around her  
mouth.

"You don't look much like a prince," she told her  
reflection, and watched it give her a macabre smile.

First things first. A prince did not wear blouses and  
skirts. She stripped them off and tossed them to the floor,  
where they inadvertently buried Chu-Chu. The mirror here was too  
small, so she went to the full-length one on the shower door.  
Clad only in her underwear, she did two quick turns, and examined  
her body; still lean, small-breasted, almost boyish. Anthy had  
filled out a fair bit since Ohtori, but Utena still had basically  
the same build, only taller.

"Better. But not good enough."

She pulled the pins from her hair and let it fall to her  
bare shoulders, splashed water on her face to wash it, and then  
worked to remove any trace of makeup. Chu-Chu, head poking  
through the neck of Utena's discarded blouse as he dragged it  
behind him, peeked around the doorframe.

Utena looked down at him and smiled, even though it made her  
cut lip throb. "I'm back." Seven years, and she didn't think  
she'd felt this good in all that time. This was what all those  
morning jogs and hours at the gym had been for; subconsciously,  
she'd known that the need for princes was still there.

Chu-Chu whined and tried to struggle out of the encumberment  
of the blouse. Utena knelt and freed him. "My first princely  
deed in seven years; you are liberated."

The animal looked at her with dark, uncomprehending eyes.  
She patted his head and hurried into the bedroom, put on long  
slacks and a button-up shirt, then ran back to the bathroom to  
check her appearance. Not as princely as the old uniform, but it  
would do for now.

And no sword.

Anthy. Whatever in the world was she going to do about  
Anthy?

The reborn prince drew what seemed her first breath since  
casting off her old clothes, and lost some of her heart. What  
was a prince without a princess to protect?

"You know, this 'prince' thing is getting a little old," she  
grumbled. "It's just a symbol from a fairy-tale. And you've had  
quite enough of those. Face the facts."

But what were the facts? Akio's world was one of illusion  
and deception. Akio--Akio was the reality she had to focus upon.  
He had to be stopped. Anthy would come round; she could convince  
her.

Right now, though, she needed a nap. The crying jag and the  
adrenaline rush of her return to princedom had drained her. She  
stripped out of the masculine clothes as quickly as she'd put  
them on only minutes before, crawled into bed, and was almost  
literally asleep as soon as her head touched the pillow.

* * *

The dream was almost entirely lucid, which only increased the  
strangeness. She was walking next to her prince along a long  
ribbon of sandy white beach, beside the blue sea that cradled the  
land like its child. 

They walked amidst the gentle foamings of the wave that  
kissed the shore. Footprints left in the damp sand were erased  
moments later. White birds and white clouds circled overhead.

"You came back." His hand in her hand was as warm as a  
dove.

"I never left."

"I missed you."

"So did I."

The surf mounted amorously against their bare ankles. She  
began to see cliffs in the distance, and the sight of them made  
her tired. She sat down on the beach, not caring about how it  
made her shorts damp. The air smelt of salt and fish.

"Why are you stopping?"

"I just want to rest a little."

"Okay."

He knelt down and picked her up; one arm under the knees,  
one arm behind the back. "I'll carry you."

"On your back, or in your arms?" she asked playfully,  
craning her neck up at him.

He smiled. "Whichever you prefer."

She reached up and put her arms around his neck, rested  
her head against his chest, and listened to the gentle, even  
beatings of his heart. Her prince smelt of the faded glory of  
roses.

In the distance, bells began to ring. Each ring moved the  
bright sun an hour ahead across the sky, and soon it was night.  
They walked beneath stars that turned like a wheel in time to the  
singing of the bells, until the sun rose again, and sank again  
into the west, and the stars and moon came back into their place;  
a hundred times, a thousand times, ten thousand times, and all  
the while the bells sang darkly.

They came to a place where the cliffs rose high enough to  
complete for place with the sun and moon. Her prince put her  
down. Night had fallen, and the sand was cool beneath her feet.

"In all this time, we haven't seen any animals at all."

The prince knelt and dipped his hands into the sand,  
emerging moments later with a single oyster. He cracked the  
shell with his fingers, pulled out the raw, living flesh from  
within, and ate half of it. Blood smeared on his mouth like  
paint, he offered it to her. She took it gladly and devoured it;  
it tasted coppery and sweet.

"Look at that."

Her eyes followed the direction of his pointing finger up  
the ragged face of the cliffs, to the white marble tower planted  
right at the precipice. Stars and moon and sun blurred overhead,  
dancers to the tune of the tower's bells.

"I didn't even notice it before."

Clouds began to gather darkly over the spire of the tower.  
She and the prince watched them for ten thousand settings of the  
stars and moon and sun in utter silence, while the wind off the  
ocean laid salt upon their hair.

At long last, a single bolt of lightning fell from the great  
broach of thunderheads, and shattered the bell-tower into a  
hundred thousand pieces. The sun paused in its coursing as  
chunks of white marble fell slowly through treacle-thick air. 

"Would you like another oyster?"

"No."

"I can't get enough of them myself."

"I'm not hungry."

"You sure?"

She reached out and touched the cool, lightning-blackened  
surface of a falling parapet. "Yes."

* * *

Doctor Retasu's office only had one actual plant in it (a potted  
ivy creeper that, even with careful maintenance, had still taken  
over most of one wall), but it was full of pictures of them:  
photographs and sketches of flowers and trees and plants, both  
common and rare. The air smelt of the Swedish pipe tobacco the  
Institute's director smoked, and of sap from the creeper.

Anthy kept her hands folded very carefully in her lap as she  
waited for Retasu to arrive. The clock on the wall (currently  
threatened with obscurement by the creeper) told her it was just  
past five. Utena's phone call had been nearly four hours ago,  
but she was still shaky from the emotions raised by it. She did  
not much look forward to returning home tonight.

She heard footsteps outside the door. Moments later, it  
opened, and Doctor Retasu entered. He smiled at her in silent  
greeting, then sat down behind his big oak desk, took a pen from  
the container beside the phone, and tapped it a few times on the  
blotter. "This shouldn't take too long, Anthy."

"Yes, sir."

"Let me just look at your file..." He wheeled his chair  
over to the file cabinet in the corner and retrieved her file,  
then wheeled back. "Now, the position usually calls for at  
least a college degree..."

There had never been the money nor the time for college.

"...but your experience more than compensates for that, and  
I know you're smart enough to handle the job."

"Thank you, Retasu-san."

The horticulturist shuffled the papers in her file. Anthy  
nervously intertwined her fingers in her lap, and tried to think  
of what she was going to say to Utena once home while she waited  
for Retasu to speak again. 

Quite simple, really. She had no desire to think of, speak  
of or remember anything about Ohtori or her brother. That was  
all, and Utena would just have to accept it.

"Anthy, you're shaking. Are you cold? I can turn up the  
heat..."

"No, sir, I'm not cold."

"What's wrong, Anthy?" He got up and walked around the desk  
to stand at her side. "I don't want to pry, but..." Anthy could  
only shake her head slightly in a completely inadequate response.  
The director frowned and put his hand on her shoulder. "My God,  
you're tense." He began to knead the bunched muscles with one  
powerful hand. Anthy found it impossible not to let out an  
immediate sigh of pleasure, and found herself thinking of how  
nice one of Utena's backrubs would have been just now...

Retasu brought his other hand into play, and the tension,  
although it could not be made to entirely vanish, at least began  
a physical retreat. He was very good with his hands. She was  
quite sure he wasn't married: no ring, and he brought a different  
date to every one of the New Year's Parties.

"Hinagiku told me that you had a fight with Utena on the  
phone." He began to delicately massage the ridge of her spine  
through her blouse. "Is everything okay?"

"No," Anthy admitted after long silence. "Things haven't  
ever really been okay."

"I really don't want to pry, but... what kind of  
relationship do you have with Utena?" 

"We're roommates," Anthy answered firmly. The attention  
was pleasant, but she had to be adamant. "Sir, about the job..."

"Forget about the job right now, Anthy." He craned his neck  
down, blind lips searching for hers; his breath smelt of pipe  
tobacco, and roses.

Roses...

Anthy shrieked, and practically threw herself out of the  
chair to get away from him. A strange expression of hurt came  
onto his face; he looked like a little boy who'd just been  
scolded by his mother.

"I'm sorry, Anthy." He sounded helpless, and strangely  
lonely. "I thought you..."

"Sir, we have a professional relationship. It's not  
appropriate."

He hung his head until his chin nearly touched his  
breastbone. "I know, I'm sorry. I really am, Anthy." He almost  
sounded like he was pleading. "I'm your employer, you're my  
employee. It was completely inappropriate."

Anthy's leap from the chair had left her slumped against the  
creeper-clad wall. As she listened to the director apologize to  
her, she imagined herself remaining here for centuries, while the  
creepers wrapped around her body like a lover's arms, covered  
over her eyes, crept inside her mouth...

She watched him detachedly. And then she Watched him. Why?  
No more explanation than why she'd burned the newspaper before  
Utena woke up; it just seemed like the thing to do.

What she saw: A middle-aged man, nice-looking in a blunt,  
stocky way. Basically good-hearted, but pulled in bad directions  
by his libido. Had a son at seventeen; skipped out a year later.  
Made his way north, with guilt following him like a pack of  
hunting hounds, worked hard, got into university, sent money  
back, never saw the boy again...

Suddenly disgusted with herself, Anthy stopped. That kind  
of invasion... what was the difference between her and Akio but  
one of degrees? 

"Your eyes changed colour," Retasu said quietly. He slumped  
down in the chair she'd recently occupied and loosened his tie;  
he looked drained and tired. "I could swear they did. Maybe it  
was just the light. It's hot in here, isn't it?"

Anthy went behind the desk, opened the third drawer on the  
left, and retrieved his scotch bottle and a single glass. She  
poured him a drink and handed it to him without a word, then  
observed dispassionately as he gulped it down.

"Thank you, Anthy."

"You're welcome, Retasu-san."

He put the glass down on the table, a little too heavily;  
the clink echoed throughout his office. 

"The job, sir?" she prompted.

"The job? Yes, the job." He loosened his tie a little  
more. "If you want it, its yours."

"Thank you, sir."

"I'll call Yuri-san over the weekend and arrange for her to  
show you the ropes before she goes on her maternity leave."

"Thank you, sir."

He reached across the desk and grabbed the scotch bottle to  
pour himself another. Then he held the glass between both hands,  
swirling the liquor back and forth. "Again, Anthy, I'm sorry. I  
didn't mean to..."

"It's all right, Retasu-san." She said it gently as she  
could. "I won't tell anyone. Let's forget about it. Let's  
pretend it never happened."

The director nodded disconsolately. Anthy left him in the  
office--touching him lightly on the shoulder as she did in a  
minor attempt at comfort--still holding the undrunk glass.

* * *

The drive home was precarious, both because of the weather and  
the dilapidated state of the car. Anthy held the steering wheel  
tightly and focused her mind solely upon the road; on the world  
music station she liked to listen to, someone was playing Afro-  
Cuban jazz on a steel-string guitar. As soon as she could, she  
switched to the 24-hour news station.

//"...little details have been released by Houou's police  
about the incident, in which a senior student at the famed  
private school died. The duel reportedly took place over the  
girlfriend of the victim..."//

Anthy turned the radio off; the lit numerals faded to  
darkness. At the intersection, as she waited for the red light  
to change, she found her head drooping against the cold plastic  
of the steering wheel as though her neck could no longer support  
its weight. Only horn-honks from the car behind her told her  
when the light turned green.

The road slush seemed to grip her tires with a dark,  
covetous malignity. She found it hard to concentrate on driving;  
without the radio to fill the silence of the car, she was utterly  
alone with her thoughts. A crimson sports car crossed her path at  
the next intersection, and she shuddered.

As soon as she reached the next red light she turned on the  
radio again, and fumbled with the tuner until she found the  
classical music station that Utena liked to listen to when she  
was in the car. A choral song by one of the Renaissance  
polyphonists filled the car's small space with cathedral  
ambience; the soprano's soaring vocal line scaled to towering  
heights, threatening but never fully entering shrillness. 

o/` Mais certeins sui qu'en vous de bien a tant  
o/` Que dou peril ou je sui sans attente  
o/` Me geterez se de cuer en plourant  
o/` Priez a dieu qu'a moy garir s'assente

Once again, Anthy found herself wanting to cry. Undoubtedly  
best that she didn't; she was having a hard enough time driving  
already. Fat flakes of snow had begun to fall from the twilit  
sky in increasing numbers, and she turned the windshield wipers  
on; their squeaky swish became a metronome for the music on the  
radio.

o/` Et pour ce je vous depri  
o/` Qu'a dieu weilliez pour moy fair depri  
o/` Ou paier criens le treu de nature  
o/` Se dieus et vous ne me prenez en cure

The last of the voices faded away, and for a second the only  
accompaniment was the whisper of the windshield wipers. Then the  
voice of the host broke in:

//"One of Guillaume de Machaut's songs from 'Le Voir Dit',  
and wasn't that a lovely performance? We're going to break for  
the news now, but we'll be back shortly with another hour  
of..."//

Anthy turned the radio off again, and drove in the awful  
grip of almost total silence. The susurration of the wipers  
became, along with the road, the total focus of her  
consciousness--that was the only way to avoid any thought of the  
past altogether. 

* * *

Utena woke up from the dream with a perfect memory of it, sweaty,  
scared, and slightly aroused. It was nearly six; if Anthy's  
meeting with Retasu had taken half-an-hour, she'd be home in  
about fifteen minutes. Dinner would have to be made quickly.

She put rice in the steamer and pulled out chicken and  
vegetables from the fridge. Just a simple stir-fry tonight, she  
could almost have that ready by the time Anthy got home...

Chu-Chu, who had fallen asleep on the skirt she'd left in a  
pile by the door, woke up to the sound of the knife hitting the  
cutting board as Utena diced ingredients. He sighed and burrowed  
deeper into the folds of cloth.

Not until she began to toss chopped chicken and peppers and  
onions into the wok did she realize two things: that she was  
still in her underwear, and that she was behaving as though  
dinner was going to be entirely normal.

A pall of heat seemed to hang over the bedroom when she  
returned to put on some clothing, which reminded her of the warm  
sand and hot sun of her dream; blood on her prince's lips, and  
the poor, torn oysters, with all their cracked shells scattered  
across the beach like husks after winnowing.

She dressed as quickly as she could, but when she blinked,  
Akio's smirking face strobed into the darkness of her blindness.  
She left the bedroom door open to let the room cool down, and  
hurried back to the kitchen. As she turned the burner on low and  
began to reach into the cupboard over the stove for soy sauce and  
sesame oil, she realized that the sink was still full of ashes  
and breakfast garbage. 

Fine, she decided; let Anthy look at it when she came home.  
Dinner would be ready as usual, but they were going to talk about  
this, and there would be no phone for Anthy to hang up this time,  
no co-worker to be used as a barrier between her and the words  
she didn't want to hear.

Anthy was later than she expected. Dinner was served and on  
the table before she arrived home, mangling Utena's discarded  
skirt (and nearly crushing Chu-Chu, who escaped at the last  
minute, in the process) beneath the lip of the door as she  
entered.

Utena, sprawled casually in her chair at the table, looked  
up and nodded a perfunctory greeting. "How'd the meeting go?"

"Good," Anthy replied. She went to the sink, ran water, and  
held her hands beneath the stream. Ashes flaked away and  
spiralled down the drain. Anthy shut the water off, turned away,  
and sat down primly at the table.

"Dinner looks good," she said as she picked up her  
chopsticks and unfolded her napkin to lay it in her lap.

"You got home just in time."

Chu-Chu trundled over, scampered up the table leg, and took  
a place at the corner near Anthy. "Chu?" he asked tentatively.  
They ignored him, and began to eat in silence. For a minute, the  
only sound in the apartment was that of chopsticks scraping  
porcelain and teeth masticating food.

Finally, Utena broke, and put down her chopsticks.  
"Anthy..."

Anthy paused in her eating. "What?"

"You know, Anthy. Don't act like you don't."

Very carefully, Anthy plucked up a single grain of rice and  
popped it into her mouth. "If this is about Ohtori, you already  
know how I feel."

"Anthy, he has to be stopped."

"Why?"

"How can you say that?"

"You saw Saionji today, didn't you? How did he seem?"

Utena's forehead wrinkled as she thought. "Different.  
Better than he was at Ohtori. He didn't remember me."

"Then what does it matter?" Anthy said quietly. "If there  
are no memories, then there is no pain."

"A boy's dead, Anthy."

"People die."

Utena shoved back her chair and stood up. "How can you act  
like this? You... more than anyone else, you know what Akio  
_is_, and you'll just let him keep on playing his games?"

"I know what my brother is," Anthy slowly said, "and that is  
why I will do nothing about this."

"A boy's dead. Somebody's son. Maybe somebody's brother;  
maybe he might have been somebody's father, if Akio hadn't killed  
him."

"Are you so certain that my brother is responsible?" 

Anthy was steely-calm, but brittle; Utena, by contrast, was  
threatening to turn red as her voice rose. Chu-Chu looked  
helplessly from one woman to the other, incapable of doing  
anything to head off what was inevitably coming.

Utena clenched her fist and firmly planted it upon the  
table, then leaned forward until her face hovered little more  
than a foot from Anthy's. "If the breeze blows a certain  
direction on Ohtori's grounds," she growled, "it's because Akio  
wants it to."

"Then why do the police know? The boy died at Ohtori. Do  
you think Akio wants them looking into what goes on there?"

No answer was forthcoming from Utena; it wasn't something  
she had thought of herself. "I don't know," she finally  
admitted. "Maybe his power is weakening."

Anthy nodded. "So all we need to do is wait. Soon enough,  
he'll have no power at all."

"Unless he breaks the Rose Seal."

The dark woman stiffened; her chopsticks dropped from her  
hands and clattered on the table. "Akio will never break it now  
that he doesn't have me to help him. He'll stay in his coffin,  
playing make-believe prince until he finally turns into dust."

"Do you know that for sure, Anthy? For sure?"

Making a visible effort to remain calm, Anthy stood up and  
stared into Utena's eyes. "Nothing is certain. But if I thought  
there was even a chance that my brother would gain the power of  
Dios, I would end my life now."

Shock slapped across Utena's face. "Anthy, don't talk like  
that."

"I'm out of his hands now, Utena," Anthy whispered. "I'll  
never allow them to touch me again."

"Anthy, don't you see?" Utena, agony showing clearly on her  
face, reached out and took both her friend's hands in both of  
hers. "This is... this is the longest conversation we've had  
about Ohtori, about Akio, in seven damn years. You never want to  
talk about what happened--"

"And you think that's strange? Why would I want to? What  
do you want to hear, Utena? Would you rather hear about the  
things Akio used to make me to do to him, or the things he used  
to do to me?"

They stared at each other across the small table; Anthy  
gripping the edge, Utena with her balled fists pressing hard  
against the top. Chu-Chu had by now retreated from the fight,  
and was hiding under Utena's discarded skirt in a lonely corner  
of the kitchen.

"Don't you see, Anthy?" Utena finally said. "Can't you see  
what's wrong with living like this?" 

"What?" The word escaped Anthy's lips like a wounded bird  
taking flight; she stepped back from the table, arms collapsing  
limply at her sides.

"Look around!" Utena waved her arms in an all-encompassing  
gesture. "This cheap little apartment, these shitty jobs, having  
to live practically hand to mouth from one day to the next... is  
this what you really want?"

"I just want to live free."

"This isn't living, Anthy." Utena closed her eyes; her  
shoulders sagged as though beneath a burden she could no longer  
bear. "It's surviving. There's a difference."

"I'm happy. I have you and Chu-Chu. No one makes me do  
anything I don't want to."

"That's irrelevant," Utena muttered, shaking her head from  
side to head so that her long hair brushed the shoulders of her  
mannish shirt. "It's all irrelevant. Akio can't be allowed to  
continue doing this because it's _wrong_, not because it has  
anything to do with us. We know he's there, we know what he is,  
and we have to stop him."

"Utena," Anthy said measuredly, "I will not go back. Not  
now. Not ever. I was a slave for a long, long time, Utena-sama.  
I've only been free for seven years now. I'm not going to risk  
becoming a slave again. Not for some boy I never met, not for  
the world." Her voice began to catch. "Not even for you."

"You called me Utena-sama." Even as emotion had begun to  
enter Anthy's voice, a numb note had crept into Utena's. 

Anthy shook her head. "No, I didn't."

"Anthy, you did."

"Well, if I did, I didn't mean to."

"Anthy..."

"Utena, please, I don't want to talk about this."

"You coward."

"Utena..."

"You haven't escaped your coffin; you've just built yourself  
a new one."

In his hiding-place, Chu-Chu let out a long, shrill,  
agonized cry; but muffled as it was by the cloth, neither Anthy  
nor Utena heard it.

Anthy took one single deep drawn-out breath. 

Then she stepped around the table and slapped Utena across  
the face, hard enough to knock her stumbling against the kitchen  
counter.

"How dare you," she snarled. "Do you pass judgement on me?  
You're all the same; I won't bend to your will, so you give me  
names to express your contempt for me. Witch, coward, what's the  
difference? God damn you, Utena, you have no idea, you have no  
idea at all; where were you when I stood in Wartburg, and the  
Minnesingers sang their songs to my brother to win the chance for  
one night with me?"

She stalked towards the dazed Utena, hands tensed into  
veritable claws at her sides. "When my brother made me bow  
before the Sun King at Versailles, and the young men killed one  
another with their rapiers in the perfumed gardens to win my  
favour, where were you then, my prince?"

The light and colour seemed to be draining out of the room  
and flowing into Anthy; a terrible glow like a corona of fire  
wrapped around her brow. Overhead, the lone bulb in the ceiling  
flared like a tiny sun, and then exploded; slivers of glass  
pelted the tile floor like jagged hail. 

"I sang cabaret in Berlin while housewives pushed  
wheelbarrows of cash to the market to buy their daily bread.  
Officers shot their friends for the sake of a glance from me.  
Where were you?"

Utena cowered and shielded her eyes; the kitchen was  
completely dark now, except for Anthy, who stood over her half-  
crouching roommate like a terrible angel, shining like a new  
star.

"WHERE WERE YOU?" she suddenly screamed, and at the sound a  
wind rushed through the kitchen like a thief. Cupboards nearly  
tore from their hinges as they were flung open, and the cheap,  
unmatched dishes of seven years came hurtling out to break upon  
the floor. The fridge swung open, and food spilled out in an  
avalanche. Chairs rocked and skidded across the tiles: one  
crashed against the door to the outside hall, causing the mirror  
to sway once, and then fall and shatter; the other nearly crushed  
Utena as it slammed into the counter less than a foot from her.

Chu-Chu cried out once as though dying, and then went  
absolutely silent.

Anthy took another deep breath, and then the rage seemed to  
go out of her. The glow vanished, and they stood in the twilit  
kitchen amidst the wreckage of their daily lives.

"Why did you take so long to come?" Anthy muttered  
defeatedly. "And now, now that I'm finally happy, you want me go  
running back..."

Utena stood up on legs that felt as though they were made  
of melting rubber, and nodded. "You're absolutely right, Anthy,"  
she said quietly. "I... I'm sorry. Most of the time, I forget  
wha--who you are. I guess I must seem pretty childish, huh?"

Anthy bit her knuckle and stared around at the destroyed  
kitchen. A cupboard door squeaked mournfully back-and-forth as  
though moved by invisible hands. "Utena, I'm sorry."

"No. Don't be." Crunching glass beneath the heel of her  
shoe, Utena walked out of the kitchen. "I said you're right.  
You shouldn't have to go back."

"Utena..."

In the bedroom, Utena pulled her gym bag out of the closet,  
yanked out several drawers, and began to pack. Anthy hovered  
around her like an errant satellite, unable to find any words  
that were adequate, and watched jeans, slacks, shirts,  
undershirts, bras, panties and socks find their way into the  
voluminous bag.

The packing took very little time, mostly due to the seeming  
carelessness for inadvertent wrinkles that Utena displayed. As  
soon as it was done, she hurried back to the kitchen, uncaring of  
the amount of glass she was embedding in her shoes. Anthy  
followed her to the door, picking her way carefully around the  
most obvious piles of glass.

At the door, Utena put her coat on, slung the gym bag over  
one shoulder and her purse over the other, and looked at the  
photo of the three of them pinned to the door calendar.

"Can I take this?" she asked quietly.

Anthy, completely mute, nodded.

"Thanks."

She opened the door and stepped out into the hall, then  
turned to look back into the apartment. "Bye, Anthy."

Finally, words. "Where are you going to, Utena?"

"I'm going to find the people who can help me stop Akio."

"But... but where are you going to sleep tonight?"

"You know," Utena said thoughtfully, "I haven't even thought  
of that."

Then she walked away down the hall. Once it became clear  
after a few minutes that she wasn't going to come back, Anthy  
closed the door.

* * *

Ring.

The phone booth was narrow, cramped and cold. Her gym bag  
had been too big to fit inside, so she'd left it just outside the  
swinging plastic doors; before it died away, the last of the  
evening snowfall had scattered a dozen flakes upon it that  
shimmered, unmelting, like small jewels in the glow of the  
street lights.

Ring.

//"Hello?"//

"Is Saionji Kyouichi there?"

//"This is his wife. May I ask who's calling?"//

"Wakaba." She smiled; cold enough that she didn't think  
she'd be able to cry, but her eyes teared a little all the same.  
"I didn't recognize your voice."

//"Who is this?"//

Seven years seemed to have dimmed Wakaba's exuberance a  
little, or perhaps it was just the suspicion in her voice. Utena  
struggled to find meaningful words, and finally gave up. "Tenjou  
Utena."

//"Who?"//

Expected, but it hurt all the same. "From Ohtori. Remember  
now?"

//"Oh, Utena!"// Suddenly, the ever-chipper Wakaba she  
remembered abruptly returned. //"Wow, it's so amazing to hear  
from you after--one, two, three--seven years now!"//

"It's great to hear your voice, Wakaba," she whispered,  
cradling the handset against her ear and resting her head against  
the cool, clear wall of the booth. "Can I talk to Saionji-san,  
please?"

//"What? You think it's that easy?"// The familiar, almost  
coquettish tone of Wakaba's teasing broadened Utena's smile.  
//"What did you do after you left Ohtori? You did leave Ohtori,  
right? I don't really remember. Isn't that funny? Well, you  
know me, Utena; my brain tends to rattle around at the best of  
times, and my memories fall out of my head like angels from the  
sky. My mother used to say that to me."//

"Wakaba, we'll have plenty of time to talk later." The  
possibility that she might be telling a lie occurred to her, but  
she repressed it. "I really need to speak to your husband."

//"Oh, okay. Sorry for babbling at you, Utena, it's just so  
good to hear from you."// 

Utena winced at the disappointment in her old friend's  
voice. "Don't be sorry, Wakaba; this is just important."

She heard a bump that sounded like a hand being put over the  
handset. Faintly, she heard Wakaba call out: //"Kyouichi!  
Phone!"// 

Utena waited, tapping her feet against the concrete floor of  
the booth impatiently. Seconds later, Wakaba's voice returned:  
//"Hey; how did you know that Kyouichi-sama and I were... whoops,  
here he is now, talk to you later, Ut--"//

//"Hello?"//

"Saionji-san, it's Tenjou Utena."

From the other end of the line came an almost imperceptible  
pause. //"Oh yes,"// Saionji said finally, right before it  
would have become awkward. //"What is it?"//

Suddenly feeling an inexplicable need to whisper, Utena  
hunched over in the phone booth and half-cupped her hand over the  
handset as though to block out the non-existent background noise  
of the empty winter evening. "Why was Wakaba so surprised to  
hear from me? I thought you were going to tell her."

Another pause. //"Completely slipped my mind. Sorry. Is  
that all?"// Terse and perfunctory--he didn't sound much like  
the man she'd met earlier.

"No. Listen, I know this is going to sound weird, but can I  
come by? I really need to talk to you. Wakaba, too."

//"What's going on, Utena? What's this about?"//

"Anthy." Did this count as a lie? One of omission,  
perhaps, but she knew that it would get Saionji's attention.

//"We'll be waiting."// He gave her the address; she said  
goodbye, listened to his farewell, and smiled at the sound of  
Wakaba crying out, "Bye, Utena-sama!" in the background.

The smile disappeared as soon as she hung up the phone,  
though, when she thought of Anthy alone in the apartment. Well,  
not entirely alone; Chu-Chu was there, after all. But still...

Hand still gripping the phone, she hung her head and scowled  
fiercely. Anthy had made her choice quite firmly, and Utena  
wouldn't begrudge her it.

No; screw that. She damn well could begrudge her it, but,  
at the same time, she wasn't going to force Anthy to do anything  
she didn't want to. There'd been quite enough of that already.

But the way she'd left the apartment, those last words to  
Anthy... Did she really want those to be, possibly, the last  
words they ever exchanged? 

She was about to pick the phone up again and dial the  
apartment when someone tapped on the booth from outside. "Just a  
minute," she said loudly. "I've got one more call to make."

"Ahh, c'mon out and play, pretty lady."

Utena turned her head back slowly; the two leather-clad boys  
outside the booth were practically twins to the ones from earlier  
that day at the bus stop. They might even have been the same  
boys; all the members of the semi-gangs that liked to roam the  
neighbourhood acquired an ubiquitous look over time, a predator-  
scavenger attitude and appearance, like a shark crossed with a  
rat.

The one closer to the booth picked up her bag with one hand.  
"If you don't come out, we're coming in." The other one grinned  
around the burning length of his cigarette.

Already forced into a semi-crouch from the cramped space of  
the booth, Utena spun and pushed off, legs uncoiling like loosed  
springs. She burst out the swinging plastic doors of the booth  
like a rocket, catching the closer punk a nose-smashing blow with  
the edge of one door as she did. As he released her bag and  
staggered back with hands clutched to his mangled, bloody nose,  
she dropped his companion with one swift snap-kick to the  
stomach. His cigarette shot from his mouth as he exhaled all his  
air, and she caught it deftly between two fingers.

Six years of judo, four years of karate. The local rec  
centre had a surprisingly good martial arts program. Behind her,  
she heard an incoherent yell; what an idiot. She dropped low; an  
amateurish roundhouse punch missed her head by a good three feet,  
and threw the bloody-nosed boy so off-balance that, had she  
weapon and will, she could have killed him three times over.

Instead, she gave him an elbow to the groin as she rose, and  
laid him gasping on the dirty snow. A glance at the other one  
confirmed he didn't have any inclination to move either.

The cigarette was still burning between her fingers; she  
knelt over by the one who'd had, respectively, hands on her bag,  
plastic to his nose, and her elbow to his groin, and held its lit  
end scant inches from his glazed, terrified eyes.

"Smoking," she said slowly, "is really, really bad for you."  
She stubbed it out on the snow beside his head. "So is harassing  
innocent women. Spread the word." 

He nodded. God, he was young; fifteen, maybe? "I'm sorry."  
His smashed nose turned his cracked voice nasally ridiculous.  
"I'm really sorry." He began to cry. Snot and blood and tears  
ran down his face in copious quantities. With his shaved scalp,  
he looked like nothing so much as a big, ugly, leather-clad baby.

Utena sighed gently. "Put some snow on that nose, or it'll  
swell up really bad."

He nodded again, miserably. She picked up her bag and  
walked away to find a cab. The prince was back.

* * *

"How's your nose?"

"Hurts, asshole, what do you think?"

"Shuddup. She got me good too."

"Got me better."

"Yeah, you're gonna be walking funny for a week."

"Shuddup."

"Psycho chick."

"Crazy bitch."

"Cute, though."

"Yeah. Nice butt."

"Nice everything. You see her move? Greased lightning,  
man."

"Coulda killed us both, if she'd wanted."

"You think it's a sign?"

"Maybe."

"You got another cigarette?"

"I think I'm gonna quit."

"Huh?"

"It's bad for you. C'mon, let's cut through here."

Crunch of boots on snow. Jingle of metal chains and  
zippers.

"Man, it's dark."

"You scared of the dark now? Baby."

Silence.

"Kenji?"

Turn.

"Kenj--oh my G--"

Die.

In another place, powerful hands pulled thick ropes.  
Funeral bells sang dolorously over Ohtori, Sapporo, Japan, the  
earth.

* * *

I've seen the nations rise and fall  
I've heard their stories, heard them all  
But love's the only engine of survival  
Your servant here, he has been told  
To say it clear, to say it cold:  
It's over, it ain't going any further  
And now the wheels of heaven stop  
You feel the devil's riding crop  
Get ready for the future:  
It is murder.  
\--Leonard Cohen, "The Future"

End of Jaquemart - Part I


End file.
